


Hermione’s Secret Diary

by chikubiiiiiii



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Embedded Images, F/M, Fanart, Illustrated Fic, Illustrations, Teacher-Student Relationship, Weight Gain, fat hermione, magical weight gain, weight gain potion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2020-12-16 16:27:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21039218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chikubiiiiiii/pseuds/chikubiiiiiii
Summary: Hermione accidentally submits a secret diary as her potions homework—and Professor Snape finds out about her secret weight gain fetish.





	1. Chapter 1

It had been such a good plan, too.

As busy as she was, with so many classes as she was taking, Hermione simply had to be fastidious about organization. Even so, her first years at Hogwarts had left her with far too many notebooks to feasibly store--much less take home with her in her one modest trunk.

So this year, she had a plan. Enchanted parchment, bound into one book! A wave of the wand would reveal blue ink--class notes to look over later. Another spell would call forth green ink--incantations to practice, and all sorts of practical spells that she wanted to keep in her repertoire for life. Purple ink was for her calendar appointments, yellow ink was for history and ancient runes, the rest of the hues of the rainbow containing all manner of knowledge… save for red.

A few drops of a potion sprinkled on each page would cause red ink to bubble up like blood from the thick parchment. These words were those that flowed from the inner recesses of her guarded heart… the carefully protected paragraphs of Hermione’s secret diary.

She emptied her mind and her heart in crimson ink, filling page after page with things that happened each day that frustrated her, interactions that puzzled her, and things she discovered about herself that she just couldn’t explain. She drew pictures, too. Often it was a facial expression on a classmate that she wanted to remember, or a sketch of a mythical creature from one of the books she read.

But after a long day of studying, when her mind wandered and her hand began moving idley… the scarlet lines would, more often than not, draw rounded, large curves, which seemed to arrange themselves in the sensual shapes of soft, feminine forms. When she would blink, and come back to herself, she would realize that she’d sleepily filled the whole parchment with sketches of fat women. Their large breasts and heavy bellies overlapping each other would cover the entire page. These drawings made her face burn hot for some reason, and she’d quickly wave her wand to make them disappear. 

One day, after a long bath (half of which was spent shampooing and rinsing her thick, unruly hair), she stood before the mirror and looked at herself. Her eyes quickly flicked down, away from her face, to gaze at her petite frame. Her breasts were small, with puffy pink nipples that seemed a bit large for such small tits. The shape of her ribcage stuck out against the smallness of her waist, which was not much thinner than her hips. She turned to the side, revealing a total lack of ass. Any weight she’d ever gained went to her big-ish thighs, the area she’d least want to be soft.

She saw her brown eyes widen in the mirror as this thought dawned on her. Parts of her body she… what?! _ Wanted _ to be soft?! What was she thinking?! 

She quickly re-dressed and returned straight away to her room. She sat at her desk, the nib of her quill nearly ripping the parchment as she scrawled desperate questions into a page already half-covered with soft girl drawings from the night before. 

_ Why am I like this?! Why does the thought of this captivate me so? Why do these pictures make me feel so strange? Why, when I have come to this beautiful and compelling world of magic… do I remain obsessed with the idea of growing fat?! _

Tears stung her eyes, turning the page before her into a blurry mess as her face flushed hot with shame. She waved her wand, pushing the now-blank parchment to the edge of the desk. She ran to her bed, diving under the covers and smothering her sobs against her pillow. 

Why couldn’t she just be normal?! Why couldn’t she daydream about going on dates with boys like other girls her age? Even some taboo sexual fetish would be better if it involved another person… Instead, she just obsessed about her own body growing larger and softer… She hugged her knees to her concave stomach and cried until her other roommates came in and forced her to muffle her sobs to avoid their questioning.

* * *

A few days later, it was finally time to assemble her book. The diary pages she’d already written would determine the order in which she needed to bind the parchment… for they were what needed to be in chronological order the most. But as she looked through the red-inked pages… her heart dropped. Where was that page… that she’d written that most humiliating admission on? It’s not like she wanted to look at it again… but it was part of her diary, and she was nothing if not a completionist.

And even more pressing than that… if the pieces of parchment weren’t here, where could they be?! She searched through the top of her desk, she searched underneath. She looked in the trash can, she looked under her bed… there was no sign of it. She thought back… and her heart sank into the floor.

The only time she had used parchment since she’d written that diary entry had been… She swallowed thickly. That report she’d had to write for Potions class…

* * *

Large, blunt fingers leafed through another report. He had spent far too long reviewing Potter’s essay. It was clear that the boy had lost interest halfway through, and he’d fluffed up the end with pointless platitudes about why such and such potion shouldn’t be used in this or that way…

Severus Snape sighed, checking the name on this next report. Granger. She was a pain in class, always talking out of turn, but her reports were at least interesting to read. And he didn’t usually have to waste much time dipping his pen in his scarlet correction ink to indicate mistakes… 

However, on the second page, he saw a flash of red among the clean black lines of rounded cursive. What appeared to be… diluted red ink, from water dripped on… He peered closer. No, there was salinity as well as dilution, those must be teardrops. He dipped his quill in the correction ink, his pen poised to write that regardless of the origin, the use of red ink was strictly prohibited on class reports. However, as soon as his quill touched the page… the red ink line it drew disappeared.

He frowned. Enchanting the parchment so that it could not be corrected? That was a new low. Perhaps Granger’s ego was even larger than he had previously conceived of. He skimmed the rest of the report as he mixed a potion to undo the charm that caused red ink to disappear… However, when he sprinkled the potion on, instead of simply preparing the parchment to take his corrections.. in a moment, the previously hidden red writing bubbled to the surface. 

It was all mixed up with the black ink, and it was unreadable… but the drawings he could barely make out between the letters nearly made his heart stop. With a wave of his wand, the black letters of the report flew off of the parchment, scattering in the dark air of the room. The paper emptied of academic writing, the red lines could be seen in full clarity. 

His eyes slowly gravitated over the drawings at the top of the page. He would expect that from one of the boys, perhaps… But he would never anticipate such lewd subject matter from Granger. The erotic intent was apparent in every line… was the girl a lesbian? What else could motivate such sexually charged artwork…? He swallowed again, trying to quiet the voice in the back of his mind that was reminding him that these drawings depicted the exact body type that drove him positively wild. 

He let his dark eyes linger on these drawings, scowling. He couldn’t help but lick his lips as he viewed the most lewd drawing, a fat belly with heavy, feminine breasts resting atop it. As he studied it, he felt something in his trousers shift. As his eyes begrudgingly pulled away from this rendering, they happen upon the writing at the bottom of the page. 

His heart pounded and his vision nearly whited out as he reads this text, and he drops the paper like it’s on fire. Possibly even faster. He had never read something like this—a confession of a girl who shares his fetish.

He gritted his teeth as he took a moment to recover, grasping the arms of his chair with white knuckles, and gritting his teeth. His eyes fell closed, and he focused his mind on cold, black-and-white ethics. This was the only way to solve this. Focusing on what he knew to be right.

Just because he read this diary, doesn’t mean that he had to say anything about it. He could say that her paper had gotten lost, and have her rewrite it. Or just give each student their grade, without returning their parchments. He could pretend like nothing ever happened. He could try to convince himself that he’d never seen it.

But was that really the _ right _ thing to do? Leave this girl lost and confused, feeling so bizarre and alone for having this strange fetish… leaving her on her own to figure it out, when there was such an easier way… She wouldn’t have to struggle on this path of isolation and misery, feeling so apart from everyone, like he had…

Though he was still unsure if it was right or wrong… he had made up his mind on what he must do.

* * *

Hermione considered calling out sick. She considered injuring herself badly enough so that she could call out sick for the rest of the semester! But… as the time of Potions class grew nearer, a miserable sort-of resignment set in. She couldn’t avoid this situation forever. All she could do is hope that Professor Snape hadn’t noticed the enchantment on the parchment… oh, she hopes he hadn’t undone the spell. That he hadn’t read… or seen… She shook her head. It was too horrible to even imagine. She headed to the classroom, her complexion sallow with dread.

She could barely focus during class… luckily, it was only a lecture. She listened to Professor Snape drone on and on with his low, nasal voice… She tried to analyze his tone. Was that the voice of a man who has read the horrible, lewd secret of one of his students? His monotone yielded nothing. She glanced up at him every few minutes, and he was always looking elsewhere with his dark, intense eyes… refusing to let her glean anything from his gaze.

Finally, the lecture came to an end, and it was time for the reports to come back. Snape walked down the aisles, handing each student a paper, individually. He handed back Draco’s paper. He handed back Ron’s. He handed back Harry’s. He did not hand back Hermione’s.

“Ms. Granger. You will see me after class.” His voice intoned, and it was clear that he was slightly straining. She couldn’t look at him, instead studying the wood grain in the table before her. “Yes, professor…” She said, meekly… cold fear pouring out of her veins and turning her body into an ice sculpture. She sat there, frozen, until everyone else had left for dinner. Then she stood, approaching the Professor’s desk.

“Ms. Granger—“ Before he could even finish pronouncing her name, she butted in.

“It was just a silly story! Totally fictional! I was writing a poem! It was only a joke! I was just drawing random things, as a gross joke, I—“

“There’s a potion that can do that, you know.” The Professor said flatly.

“I…” Hermione was left, with her mouth agape. She glanced up at him at long last, and their eyes met. In that cold, electric gaze… there was no doubt. He had seen her drawings. He had read her confession. And there was nothing she could do to take it back. “It was an accident, I… I didn’t mean for you to…” Suddenly, the last words he had said finally fully registered in her brain. She went silent for a long moment.

She swallowed.

And then softly, meekly, glancing to the side in nervousness, her heart beginning to pound quite hard in anticipation, she spoke again.

“...Really?” 

She let her doe-dark eyes find his snake-black ones again. She saw his lip tremble slightly as his mouth opened to reply.

“Yes.”

She swallowed hard once more, then sucking her lower lip between her teeth and biting it nervously. The fear she currently felt was more intense than any she’d experienced before, and that was saying something, considering the events of the past few years. But this fear was mixed in equal parts with shame, and that potent combination made her terror all the greater. 

The only thing that equaled her fear… was her excitement.

She cringed inwardly and trembled outwardly as she spoke again, the quavering in her voice reflected in the quaking of her tightly-balled fists, and the shaking of the ends of her thick and wavy hair. 

“Will you… show me?” She asked, that single question wringing all the Gryffindor courage from her desperately longing heart. 

He responded once more, the same as before.

“Yes.”

* * *

The potion was not only complex… but it contained ingredients absolutely forbidden to students. Hermione felt a jolt of shock watching her professor put such rare ingredients as verdigris, the hair of a white khyah, and the fat of an impundulu alongside more common ones like chamomile, blessed thistle, and ashwagandha. 

“Are you sure you want to be using these on me, those—“

“Silence.” He cut her off with a word. He had to maintain absolute focus on the task at hand. Not just because this potion was difficult to get correct, but also… He had to maintain professionalism. This experiment was just to give the girl a little taste of being… big… and then he’d give her the antidote. If she found she preferred it in fantasy, she could go off and live her life and be normal. He focused on this moral line of reasoning as he brewed the potion that had been the center of many of his fantasies for his entire life. He tried to keep his hands from shaking in his long sleeves as he stirred the small cauldron.

Hermione remained quiet for once, as she watched the brew bubble, her stomach doing flips with her nerves. Her eyes flicked over to the professor’s face. He was locked in deep concentration, the steely wall of his shark-like gaze impenetrable. She almost wished he would look over, and say something, even something harsh… anything would be better than this seemingly endless anticipation.

After what felt like an eternity of brewing, the professor carefully lowered a curved glass tube into the cauldron, and the bubbling liquid—now a bright, visceral yellow—surged up through the curling, clear channel. As it crawled, bubbling, around the three circular bends in the tubing, it gradually reddened, turning to a tantalizing pinky-peach. It dripped, drop by drop, into the belly of a round-bottomed flask. 

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

  
  
  


At long last, the wait was over. The cauldron was empty, and the flask was full. Hermione watched in nervous awe as the professor smoothly pulled the flask from its elaborate wire holder. He then stood, turning to Hermione. His thick, square fingers, with their blunt fingernails (that always looked dirty, somehow, even when they weren’t) held the flask by the neck. It was a queer grip. Not one which held the flask gently, with just enough strength to hold it securely, making sure not to break it… no. This hold was one that was familiar with such a flask. This large hand held the flask so tightly, as tightly as one could without shattering it, making sure not to drop it. This death-grip only loosened when the warm flask was held securely between both of Hermione’s small palms. 

The flask given, he stood before her, crossing his arms. He was backlit by the waning light of the late-fall sunset; his face was in shadow, his eyes, unreadable. His low voice sliced through the silence like a scythe.

“Well. What are you waiting for. Drink it.” He said sharply. 

She jolted in fear and surprise, though the flask did not so much as budge in her tightly-gripping little fingers. She stood there, almost like a statue. From the top of her dun-brown head, to the tips of her black patent-leather shoes, she was still. The only movement was the rising and falling of her small chest under her shirt and sweatervest, her red and gold tie shifting like the slowest plume of golden fire. Her voice came, soft as a kitten’s mewl.

“...now?” She asked, quietly.

“Well, you’ll need me to administer the antidote, won’t you?” He said flatly, as his eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “Unless you want to figure out how to explain to your peers how you suddenly… well.” He closed his eyes and shook his head, his nose wrinkling slightly as his lip curled. “Just drink it, Granger.” 

She took a deep breath… When the professor opened his eyes again, Hermione was drinking deeply of the peachy-pink potion. Her eyes were closed, her little lips pressed to the large mouth of the flask, gulping down the fizzy, bubbly, but thick liquid. 

He watched as she drank down the liquid quite quickly—she always could do anything she put her mind to—and he nearly forgot to stop her as she neared the halfway point. He stepped forward, grasping the neck of the flask and pulling it rather ungently away from her small mouth. Her eyes snapped open in surprise, and a small gasp left her lips, from which a tiny salmon-colored dribble escaped. Her fingers quickly found her chin, and she wiped up the drop, licking it from her fingertips. The professor shuddered, dumping the contents of the flask unceremoniously into the cauldron. 

“Greedy girl. The latter half of the potion is needed for the antidote. I don’t know whether I should or shouldn’t be surprised at how fast you gulped that down.” These words were more or less mumbled as he added a few more ingredients to transform the potion into its own antidote. 

Hermione may have been hurt by these words, had she not been entirely preoccupied with something else that was just now beginning to occur. A warm, full feeling was quickly blooming in her stomach, and it had set everything in her to tingling. She quickly pulled out her wand, and spoke in a voice clear, and full of resolve. 

“_ Reflecto Appearus!” _

A silver light emanated in a cone from the tip of her wand, manifesting in a long, oval mirror which floated in the air before her. In it, she could see her full body, which was now shrugging off her long robe, revealing her school outfit of grey knee-high socks, a grey skirt, dark sweatervest, shirt, and tie. She looked at herself, much as she did after her bath the day before, examining her body for any sort of visible change.

Before any visual hit her, she was impacted by an intensely powerful feeling, a shockwave of pure arousal coursing through her body. She fell to the side, bracing herself against the Professor’s desk, her hand pressing her wand flat against the wood. As she watched, her slender hand grew, her knuckles gently inverting as her palm became fleshy, her fingers becoming sweetly chubby tapers. She felt her legs pressing together as they, too, grew, and her fattened pussy throbbed with the sheer eroticism of the feeling. 

She looked up, into the mirror, her mouth falling open in surprise as she saw herself. Each time her belly rose with breath, it did not fall back down as she exhaled… it simply grew larger and softer, pushing up her sweatervest, then her button-down shirt. Her neck, too, had softened, and as she reached up her fingertips to brush against it, another violent shiver coursed through her. The feeling of the unhideable softness under her chin… her big, soft arm pressing against her wide side and… her still proportionally small, but noticeably larger breasts, pressing them together under her clothes. It was all too much. With a final breath, the top of her grey skirt rolled down, her huge lower belly revealing itself completely from under her clothes. This motion caused her stomach to jiggle magnificently, causing a chain reaction through her entire softened, erotic body. 

Her pussy not only throbbed, now, it _ ached. _She had never been this turned on in her entire life. She felt powerless in the face of her fetish, fulfilled. She felt full, so full, but… hungry, in a different way. 

Her professor, who had watched the entire thing through the grey haze of the conjured mirror, was trying very hard to keep his focus. He had desperately wanted to see how the potion had worked, (for his personal thoughts, later) but he didn’t want to become visibly aroused. This effort took a tensing of his entire body, from his feet, to his fists, to his clenched jaw, and thus, he was totally unprepared when the much larger Granger moved quickly through the conjured mirror, and pressed him up against the wall. 

She strode forward, not so much needing him as she needed hands on her, not so much wanting to come on to her teacher as she wanted to sate this powerful need within her. Her belly met him first, pressing against his front and conforming to the shape of his body as it pushed him back. He fell, a bit, his legs going from under him, but her now-considerable weight was enough to press him firmly against the stone wall of the dungeon. This brought his head down to her level, and she promptly wrapped her arms around it, and kissed him on the mouth.

Soft arms on either side of his head, her fat little breasts pressing up against his chin, and her mouth kissing his… not to mention the intense sensation of her heavy, soft belly completely overwhelming every contour of his body… Any less of an attack would be easily cast away by the trained wizard and expert loner, but this… this was just too much. He had… to give in.

She felt him melt under her kiss. She was inexperienced, but passionate, and above all else, she needed this. She kissed him deeply, her arousal magnifying as she felt him return the kiss. She pressed her pelvis forward, pushing her underbelly against him, trying to communicate her desperate need to be touched. And he obliged.

The thick fingers of his large hands slowly pressed into her fat sides, feeling the softness under her arms. He traced this heavy curve back, to where even her shoulders were erotically adorned with full, supple fat. He pressed his fingers beneath this, his palms filling with soft flesh as he experimentally lifted this roll. He didn’t expect the feeling of this girl’s fat in his hands to be so good… and he _ certainly _didn’t expect what came next.

As he touched the girl’s soft back, she _ moaned. _This experience was clearly as profoundly sexual for her as it was for him. Against his will, against his better judgment, he grasped at her sides, feeling his way forward on her body… and down.

The touch to her back was so erotic, she had never felt anything like it. Hermione was completely undone by this feeling… a mixture of awe, surprise, humiliation, profound pleasure and still—the desire for more. His big hands slid down her sides. The first touch of skin against skin was so much more intense. While his palms were covered by his long sleeves, she felt his fingers grasping her pillowy flesh… He felt down her massively distended belly, until he reached the lower stomach, under her navel. Here, his hands paused, groping and lifting the huge, wobbly form. She was stunned that she could feel it. It was so far away from her spine, from the core of where her body once was... but she could feel it, now, and that made it all so real. The potion had made her fat. She was fat. She moaned again, this time against her professor’s neck, as her pudgy pussy convulsed wetly.

He moved one hand away from her stomach, locking all doors and closing all windows in the room with one gesture. He regained his footing, and stepped forward, another gesture of his hand allowing him to lift her onto the desk just with the one hand on her stomach. She felt her soft ass impact the hard wood, and she suddenly looked up at her professor with fear in her face. The fact of the matter was—the man she’d just accosted was not only a fearsomely powerful wizard who could do any number of things to her… but he could also get her expelled!

With a snap of his fingers, all of the clutter flew away from his desk, and the candelabras all burst at once into brilliant-bright candleflame. This illuminated his face… and removed any shadow of fear from her heart. The impenetrable obsidian of his eyes had melted into tangibly desirous lakes of magma. His lips were wet from her kiss, and his corpse-pale cheeks were now flushed coral pink. How forbidden, how lewd, this face of his, utterly naked of all its usual ironclad defenses. Seeing this face… she knew two things: he wanted her, and he would not tell.

What Snape saw was completely different, but equally lewd.

He saw Hermione sitting atop his desk, her chubby legs pressed together as far as they could… though her knees could not touch due to the pooling softness of her thighs. Her huge, soft torso spread in every direction, her soft hips so wide to either side, her stomach reaching almost to her knees now that she was sitting, the shelf of her legs propping her fat belly up into a pleasingly round shape. Her shirt and vest had come up to reveal the large curve of her upper belly, full of potion and covered in a thick, tantalizing layer of fat. Her puffy nipples were hard, and visible through the layers of cloth. Her softened face was flushing so prettily, with a look of apprehension, slight shame, and profound desire. 

The more he looked at her, the more this shape suited her. Her newly large silhouette somehow put her massively thick hair into proportion. And this look of shy excitement was much more appealing than her usual desperate-to-prove-herself sharpness. As he considered this, her knees shifted, trying harder to press together… her hips wriggled against the desk. Oh. Her needs.

He bit back a sigh, closing his eyes for a long moment, and then he moved forward, pressing a kiss to her soft neck. She gave a soft, sweet, high moan, wrapping her arms around him. She opened her legs for him.

He couldn’t see them, but as he reached between, he felt how tight her panties were over her plumpened pussy. That must be uncomfortable. He reached up, sliding his hand over her soft and velvety-smooth inner thigh, finding a part of the waistband that had ripped. He hooked his finger into this hole, ripping her underwear clean off. She sighed with relief as the constricting garment fell away.

For her part, she was anxious to get out of this shirt… when she had been forcibly sat down, a button had popped off… if it stayed on for much longer, who knew how ruined it would get. She loosened her tie, unbuttoning the buttons as best she could. He helped her push off the shirt and sweatervest, revealing the lingerie underneath.

Her bra was simple, a lavender bra with some lace on it. However, that bra was for a B-cup at BEST, and with the growth this potion had afforded, her breasts were poking out the top of the cups, her puffy pink nipples on display even though her bra hadn’t even come off yet. 

Rather than remove her bra, Snape took what was offered, and pressed his mouth to one of these perfect buds, his hand finding his way back between her legs. When his mouth began sucking on her breast, Hermione moaned so loud, and so intensely… She had to clap her hands over her mouth to keep from crying out. It was all so intense… she never knew anything could feel this good.

What her mouth could not say, her pelvis filled in, shifting and rutting against his hand, desperate for stimulation. He did not breach her, simply bracing the base of his palm against her pubic mound, pressing two fingers against the top of her slit so that when she gyrated against them, her clitoris would be stimulated at her speed. His other hand reached around her back, groping at one large, gorgeous love-handle before reaching farther to grasp at her soft lower back… His mouth opened more against her tit, a soft, humiliatingly needy moan leaving him as he licked her nipple. This was so deeply stimulating… he almost couldn’t process it in the moment. For once, he couldn’t think… he just… _ did. _

Almost too soon, Hermione hugged his big head to her chest, giving a last, shattering cry as she had her first orgasm. This particularly strong jerk of her hips unseated his fingers, sliding them back over her slit. He felt her girlcum on his fingers, squirting out in a rush as her whole body convulsed and vibrated. There was no doubt about it… he’d made her come. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the positive feedback! While I did have a rough plot in my head for the rest of the story, I was only going to post the first little part as a one shot… but your encouragement has made me decide to write the rest of it out! Here you go:

Hermione lay in her bed, staring at the canopy above her. She could hear her roommates around her, all sleeping peacefully. Truth be told, she didn’t know if she would ever be able to sleep again.

After she’d finished on his hand… well, after she’d  _ finished _ finishing—her orgasm had lasted nearly two full minutes—there had been a long moment of silence. Finally, she’d let go of his head. He pulled back from her chest, and their eyes met. Their gaze stayed together for what felt like an eternity (it surely could have been no more than a few seconds). But in that time… she had seen so much. 

She had seen desire. She had seen passion. She had even, perhaps, seen a scrap of satisfaction, something she’d never before witnessed on her Professor’s face. And beneath that, she thought she could make out something more in those dark eyes… was it… vulnerability?

Hermione pulled the covers up over her head. Why was she obsessing about making eye contact? The rest of what they had done was way, way WAY worse!! 

Their mutual gaze had only lasted a moment, after all, and the—was it sex? How could it have been anything but!—had lasted longer, it must have. Once that moment was up… he had looked away, stood up to his full height, and stormed off, motioning to the bubbling cauldron that contained the antidote. He had left her alone to drink it, to kneel on her hands and knees on the stone floor of the potions room as her skin and fat melted away, sucking back into her body with a deeply unpleasant sensation. She’d gathered her stretched and ruined uniform around her, and ran back to her room—thankfully before the rest of the students had finished dinner. And here she was… she reached a hand between her legs. She was still wet. She could almost still feel his fingers on her. But something was different, now.

She felt small. Too small. And she’d missed dinner, too. Her stomach growled loudly, and she put her hands over it. The skin was mostly taut, but actually a little concave, almost like a hammock hanging between her ribcage and hipbones. It felt as if it were almost touching her spine. Her belly button was barely a divot, nothing like the sensually soft spot that had felt so sensitive just an hour before.

Hermione knew her body wasn’t ugly. People made fun of her hair, and her teeth, and how she always spoke up in class, but they never mocked her figure. She’d even seen bigger girls look at her with envy. But how could they know… that the feeling was mutual. That she looked at their soft bodies, and desired them. Desired to look like that, to feel like that… And now that she had known that, how it felt to be the way she’d always wanted to be… how could she know peace?

* * *

The next time she was in potions class, she couldn’t stop staring at her teacher, even during the midterm examination. Would he let her take that potion again? She had remembered the formula, writing down all the steps to the point where she had it memorized. But those forbidden ingredients were the real trouble. Only he had access to them. Would he deny her the most potent pleasure she had ever known? 

Snape, for his part, was currently living in his own personal hell. For one, there was the moral conundrum. He  _ had  _ had good intentions, hadn’t he?? He’d just wanted to help a girl out… A girl who had been going through the same thing he went through when he was her age… Something that had plagued him his whole life. His slightly soft chest, with its embarrassingly perky nipples that sometimes showed through all of his layers, and his not extremely large, but certainly fat stomach, were humiliating reminders of a life of trying to deny himself the body he wanted. 

He had never let himself confess to any woman he’d liked or loved from afar… not only because he was deeply ashamed of himself as a person (though try to get him to admit that), but also because of…  _ this.  _ Not only did he obsess over girls from afar like an awkward freak… but he thought about… this sort of thing. The sort of things women went to horrifying lengths to avoid. He’d administered many potions to students who had tried to make weight loss tonics, and nearly killed themselves as a result. He’d been asked by women—even by female members of staff—to make them such things himself. Of course, he’d always refused… but it simply reinforced to him that… he was deeply weird. No woman would want what he wanted… No one could ever possibly understand him, or his desires. He was too twisted. And he had always been.

But then this girl had come… and desired what he’d always dreamed of a girl wanting. And not only that… she had desired him, as well. She had tackled him against the wall, for goodness sakes!! It’s not like he could have resisted, even if he’d wanted to. She had nearly a 200 pound advantage on him at that point, and—that thought stopped his rampaging inner monologue in his tracks. His face turned bright red. 

“Professor?” A voice interrupted his reverie. He looked up. “Is there more than one right answer to question 16?” Asked the male student. 

“No.” He snapped back, perhaps rather harshly. The student turned back to his exam. He couldn’t help but let his eyes flick over to. Her. 

His heart nearly burst out of his chest when he saw that her doe-dark eyes were trained on him, staring at him intently. He looked immediately back down at his desk. This was bad. She had certainly seen him blushing. He stood, turning his back to the class, resting one hand on the back of his chair and pretending that he was looking at the board. His mind trained back on the second half of the situation that he’d been torturing himself with.

The agony of… someone finding out. 

He had made a decent life for himself, with this job. He’d managed to be respectable, despite everything. And this… this could not only ruin his reputation… who knew what his fate could be if it was discovered he had been intimate with student. There was only one answer to that. The blood drained from his face just thinking of it.

He turned back, sitting in his chair once more. He looked at the small clock on his desk. The class had only been going on for 10 minutes. Damnit. It was even worse with Her in the room…

The most damning thing about this situation was  _ that spell. _ Headmaster Dumbledore had informed them all at their teacher orientation that—though he doubted it would ever be triggered—there was a spell on Hogwarts’ grounds that would let him know if a teacher and student ever had sex with each other. Naturally, this was a failsafe to prevent teachers taking advantage of students… but who would believe that a student took advantage of a teacher? He hated himself for not having stopped it. He hated himself even more for giving in… for enjoying it so much. 

The spell hadn’t been triggered. Dumbledore would have talked to him about it already. But the girl… she could still tell. He glanced up at her again. Luckily, she was back to focusing on her test. He squinted. Was she writing on her test in… red ink?!

* * *

He had collected all of the students’ papers with a spell, rather than having them hand the tests in personally, and told them he would NOT be taking any questions after class. He tried very hard not to look at Her… but even so, he caught Hermione’s melancholy glance as she filed out of the room with the others. When all students were gone, he slumped at his desk, his fingers starting at his temples and then sinking deep into his hair. He held his head. How had he gotten himself into this situation? He wished more than anything he had just ignored her first red-inked mistake.

Suddenly, he jolted straight up, and shuffled through the pages before him. He looked for one with red ink… but it wasn’t there. He finally found the paper he was looking for, with trembling fingers. The midterm labeled Hermione Granger. And it was written entirely in… black ink? He looked it over briefly. She had gotten every question correct, of course she had (though he had to admit that he was a bit impressed that she had somehow managed to study after what they had done…). He swallowed thickly as he dipped his quill into his correction ink. 

He let a single drop hover on the tip of the quill, not committing to touch it to paper, yet. He let himself relax in this one moment, giving himself up to chance. If the droplet fell from the tip of the pen, onto the page, he would brew the potion to reveal her secret message. If it stayed, or dripped back up into the quill through capillary action, he would leave it be, and never speak of it again. He waited a long moment, watching this blood-red drip on which the world hung. 

The droplet shuddered, hovered… and began to disappear up into the pen. In a moment, before he could stop it, his hand shook with a sharp and expert movement, sending a splatter onto the page. The red ink soaked up into the paper, disappearing instantly. 

He tossed the quill aside, grabbing his wand and magicking away the black ink with his right hand, even as his left hand was already mixing the potion to reveal her secret message. The second it was done, he splashed it on the page, and then leaned back in his chair in horror and dark anticipation of the words that were to be revealed.

From the top of the page, her words appeared in a neat, cursive hand:

Next to her name, she had drawn a little picture of herself, the way she had looked after the potion, all round curves, with a sweet, happy smile on her face. 

Snape pressed his palm to his eyes, recoiling from the page. Damn it all… Her honest, straightforward nature. Her naive optimism. She was so smart, but not burdened with any of the anxiety about consequences. Or perhaps she did have those worries, but they were choked out like weeds under creeping phlox by her flowering, earnest desire for more pleasure. How could a being like this exist. Why did she have to be so perfect?! 

* * *

Hermione lay in her bed that night, wondering if he had read her secret message. She had written the note quickly, then sprinkled a few drops of potion on them that she had put in a locket around her neck. The potion had worked, disappearing the red letters and the little drawing, and she had completed her test as normal. She knew he would notice… but what she didn’t know was… would he acquiesce? Would he give it to her again, what she now knew she needed? 

There was a pecking at her window. All of the other girls were downstairs in the common room, staying up late and studying for their midterm exams, so she leapt out of bed without fear. She was dressed in her usual pajamas, loose-fitting shorts and a very large muggle t-shirt that fit her like a dress. The fabric billowed around her as she opened the window… the parting curtains revealing a sleek, iridescent crow. The crow had a small letter in its long beak, and an intelligent gleam in its eye. The letter was enclosed in an envelope of fine parchment with a metallic green-and-gold trim. She reached for it.

The crow turned, hopping a little ways away on the windowsill. 

Annoyed, Hermione reached for it again. “My letter, please!” She said in a voice that was meant to be stern. It cocked its head, and dropped the letter. She nearly screamed. It flew away. 

She grasped the windowsill and stared out into the black night, tears prickling at her eyes. Stupid bird!!! She knew that letter was from Severus Snape, and that it was meant for her.

When she grew cold from standing before the open window, she stood back, and began to close it. When, up from below, cocky as can be, emerged the crow once more, holding the letter in its beak. It placed it on the windowsill, almost apologetically. 

Hermione reached out to take it.

Before her fingers could grasp it, the crow grabbed it in one talon, hopping backwards, making a cawing noise that sounded an awful lot like a laugh. How cruel!!

She made an angry noise, grabbing at the bird. It hopped to another windowsill, though she could still see it from hers. It held the envelope in its talon, shifting it back and forth in the candlelight from inside the window… Suddenly, she realized. It was admiring the shiny trim on the stupid envelope. 

“Here, silly birdy!” She cooed, taking off her heart-shaped locket, and flouncing it around outside. The bird caught sight of the gleaming gold-plated heart, and hopped back over. It opened its mouth, dropping the letter. Hermione grabbed the envelope, quickly, feeling a momentary thrill of victory…

Until she felt the chain of her locket being pulled from her hand. She was shocked that the bird was so strong, or perhaps she loosened her grasp when she had the letter in the fingers of her right hand… but just like that, the crow was gone, into the inky night. She felt sadness, and anger… but she put those emotions aside with relative ease as she eased open the flap of the tiny letter, being careful not to tear the pretty envelope. 

Inside the finely decorated envelope was a tiny sheet of parchment. It said, simply:

At the bottom of this letter, there was a small silver key. She took it in her fingers, pulling it from where a green ribbon affixed it to a neatly-cut hole at the bottom of the parchment. She lifted it to her eyes to examine it… But felt a thrill of fear jolt through her as she felt a powerful tugging sensation in her gut. This key was… a portkey! She realized this suddenly as the world around her slanted and twisted nauseatingly.

Before she knew it, she was standing in another room. It was a large, dark room, with no windows… or perhaps, they were shielded by the heavy, dark curtains hung across each wall. This gave the room a foreboding, but somehow cozy feeling. There was a small desk, absolutely clean and festooned with only an inkwell and quill, held in a decorative metal holder shaped like an elegantly coiling snake. The chair behind the desk was made of black leather, in a low-back, but tufted style, and in the chair… was Professor Severus Snape himself.

At her abrupt arrival, he jolted up, out of his chair, his eyes widening with pure shock. “I did not think you would come so soon!” He hissed, dropping what he was holding onto the desktop in surprise. Hermione drew closer, looking at what he had been holding. A tiny vial of fine green glitter, mostly used up, and a nearly-full tube of gold, glittering particles. Nearby was a little spool of green ribbon.

“Oh!” She exclaimed, looking from the paper in her hand to the embossing supplies before her and back. “You decorated the envelope yourself! That’s really cute.”

Snape’s face turned red, and he sputtered something that was not quite any word or another. Truth be told, he was so nervous about sending the letter, that he had made it take as long as possible… even deeper truth be told, he did enjoy embossing as a hobby. One he rarely got to use, to boot. Did she really just call something about him cute?!

“Ahem. Ms. Granger.” He said, trying to calm his nerves. “I was. Not expecting you to use the portkey so soon…” 

“Hm? Oh, I didn’t realize it was one,” She remarked, looking it over. “I thought it was just a key to your bedroom, and I’d have to come and find it.” She looked down at herself, and blushed. “Otherwise I would have put on some proper clothes…”

He looked down at her, and then away. “I always forget it what a pain it is to deal with muggle-born… Of course the key is a portkey, it is tradition that—” He suddenly took notice of her attire. “Yes… what are these clothes? These are not proper pajamas for a young lady to wear…” He squinted at her. “What in the blazes is the ‘Cooper’s Hill Cheese-Rolling competition’?” 

She put the letter down on the table, and placed her hands on her hips. “I always forget what a pain it is to deal with wizard-born, unaware of such traditions.” She mocked, then giving him her best smirk. 

He frowned, opening his mouth to take 10 points from Gryffindor—then realized it would not look the best if the records showed that he had deducted points from Hermione from within his own bedroom. 

His resulting silence was a clear indication that she had won, and her smile widened. Then she sighed, and looked back at the letter on the desk.

“Well, if you weren’t expecting me, I suppose I could come back later…” She said, a little surprised at her own boldness.

He was surprised, too, at the blazing look in her dark little eyes. That was the face of someone who knew exactly what she wanted, and knew that he would give it to her. The face of a burgeoning Dominant.

There was something about this expression that made his heart pound. He sighed, and turned, walking over to the other end of the room, and bent down beside his bed. 

This was the first time Hermione had taken notice of the bed in the room. She didn’t know how she’d missed it… It was a very large, four-poster bed, made of mahogany or other rich wood, its posts carved with intricate snakes. The canopy was hung with lush green velvet, though the bed itself was clad in sheets of fine black silk. When the Professor emerged from beside the bed, he was holding a flask. This one was also round-bottomed, but about half the size of the one used in the previous session. 

“That’s… much less than before…” She murmured, not doing a very good job of hiding her very visible disappointment. Last time it had felt so good… who knew if it would feel even close to as good if she didn’t get as big? 

“Demanding, aren’t we.” Snape muttered, though inwardly, he was burning. If there was any doubt in his heart that she was a true pervert, it was gone now. She already wouldn’t be satisfied by anything but a full dose. “But you’re wrong. This is only the half-dose, I have already used the other half to prepare the antidote. This is actually more of the potion than you took last time.” 

Her eyes lit up at this, and she leapt forward, taking the bottle from him enthusiastically. She looked around, her eyes wide with excitement.

“Do you have a full-length mirror?” She asked hopefully, a sweet smile on her face. Her cheeks were flushed, and her lips were already shining—her mouth having grown wet with anticipation of tasting the sweet peachy-pink potion once more.

Snape let a deep, huffy breath out through his nose, gesturing at the wall. Two curtains pulled apart, revealing a large, oval mirror, also adorned with cast-iron snakes around the edges. 

“Wow, you’re really committed to the Slytherin thing!” Hermione remarked, going and taking a look at herself in the snake-mirror. Seeing the state of her hair, she paused to comb her fingers through it, trying in vain to calm it down. Snape rolled his eyes, removing his cloak and hanging it on a snake-themed coatrack near his bed. He stood there awkwardly as she preened, already growing hot at the thought of what was to come. He wondered if he should begin undoing his buttons (as there were quite a few.) He quickly decided, no, thinking of Dumbledore’s spell. The less chance that they would slip up and do something to trigger that, the better. They were playing with fire as it is, and the buttons on his coat could act as a deterrent, more’s the better.

After her hair had been neatened to her taste, Hermione could not wait any longer. She popped the glass stopper out of the bottle, tossing it to Snape, who caught it, before taking a deep swig from the bottle. 

Suddenly, she was filled with that deeply stimulating feeling, once again. A bubbling, full sensation filled her belly, like being filled with expanding foam that suffused her every tissue with warm, fizzy energy. She felt her stomach press outward, and a strange blooming sensation in her rear as the cheeks of her ass relaxed and began to expand. But rather than chugging the whole potion down… she had only just taken one gulp. She turned about in the mirror, noting slightly softened thighs, and a larger bum, but not much of a change that could be detected under her large sleep-shirt. 

She took another drink right as the feeling from the first is tapering off, and right away, she felt her belly grow again. She pulled the shirt tighter around herself with one hand, turning to the side to admire her form. Though her belly was protruding like she’d just eaten a very, very full meal, she was not satisfied. The shape of it was a simple semi-circle, with no trace of an overhang or any real softness to speak of. She lifted the flask to her lips, taking three deep gulps of the liquid. 

A far more powerful sensation came over her, and she lost her grasp on the shirt as her belly practically rocketed forward, drawing the shirt tight. She could feel her little breasts growing only slightly, though her softening back still pulled the shirt tight over her chest and now-protruding nipples. She brushed a hand over one nipple as she paused for air, giving a breathy little moan as she watched herself in the mirror. 

She saw her thigh-gap shrink and then disappear as her thighs softened and pressed together, filling all available space between them. She took another gulp, putting a hand to her neck and … an erotic shudder went through her entire body as she felt the flesh of her throat expand against her open hand, filling her grasp with the softest fat held by the smoothest skin she could imagine. She groped it gently, crying out again as she felt her rapidly widening arm pressing her right breast against her left one… and downward, against her big belly.

She continued drinking the flask, in earnest, then, feeling her esophagus pulse through the thickening fat as the potion coursed down her throat. She drank every drop, and then backed up, taking a heavy seat on the bed as she watched the rest of the transformations take place. 

Her sides expanded, her torso growing so wide within her shirt… as she watched, the once too-large shirt stretched to its full capacity, and then rolled up over her expanding gut. She arched her back, pressing her crotch down against the bed as she felt a deeply erotic sensation—that of warmth spreading down her thighs as her belly, once flat within her shorts’ loose waistband, spilled over her thighs and grew… unbelievably soft fat belly sliding forward to cover her thighs… nearly reaching her knees. As the fat beneath her waistband grew, as well, her legs were forced apart, her shorts pulling tight in all directions—over her ass, her expanding pubic mound, and pulling tight between the lips of her now-chubby pussy. She felt her belly fat slide down and fill the gap between her legs, and she bucked her hips, stimulating herself against that agonizingly soft underbelly.

She felt acutely aware of her entire body… Everything from her fat cheeks pulling her wet lips slightly apart, to the erotic press and spreading of her arms against her sideflesh, to the way her chubby feet stretched her softknit lacy socks… She felt completely fattened and loved every moment of it, erotic pleasure suffusing her entire form. No… she wasn’t just suffused with pleasure, she felt she was the embodiment of pleasure itself.

Now the only thing left… was how to consummate that pleasure, once more. 

She looked up at her professor, who had stood silently by and watched all this time. As she locked eyes with him, she leaned back into the bed (feeling yet another erotic thrill at how far and widely-spread her body sank into the soft mattress) and lifted her legs, her chubby feet curled demurely downward… to make it easier for him to remove her shorts. 

He paused for a moment. Of course, he was ridiculously, shamefully turned on by this whole spectacle. But he couldn’t just act out of such base reasoning. No… despite the crying of his id, there was another voice, here, the voice… of pathos. She was vulnerable… And he had put her in that state. She… was needy. And… who knew if she could even reach her pussy anymore.

With this intensely erotic thought, he swallowed down his reservations, and stepped forward, curling his fingers around the waistband of her shorts. He pulled them swiftly down her soft thighs, the shorts curling up into a barely recognizable infinity sign of cloth with the friction of her massive, fattened legs. He knelt between them, now… Pressing his face into the golden triangle between her left thigh, right thigh, and giant round of soft underbelly. Within this maze of flesh, he found a warm, wet slit. His nose rested atop her pubic mound as he pressed his his mouth to her, tasting her warm, savory wetness, feeling her pudgy clit against his tongue.

She moaned, high and impassioned, as she felt the hot, soft press of his tongue. She laid back fully in the bed, her pussy throbbing wetly against his mouth and chin as she felt many deeply erotic sensations at once. Her large belly shifted upwards with the momentum, and then downwards, and then up again, her belly jiggling so hugely. She cast her hands up, sinking her palms into the ocean of flesh, feeling the intense ripples of jiggling energy course out through her breasts, arms, legs, and even… her chin and face. 

She felt this at the same time that she became truly aware of how widely her sides and back spread out against the bed. Her breasts were hanging apart, her nipples pointing up and out, the huge rounded mountain of belly obscuring any view of her teacher whatsoever. If she hadn’t felt his mouth against her hot, throbbing pussy, she wouldn’t have even known he was there. 

Hermione let herself sink into her fantasy, letting herself enjoy the feeling on her clit without considering any of the implications or desires of the man between her legs. She grasped her fat sides, shaking them up and down and creating even more earthquakes of explosive pleasure within her. She reached up, grasping her fat breasts, stimulating her puffy nipples with her fingertips… they were so sensitive, even through the cloth of her shirt, which now functioned only as a semi-successful bra. She could feel the shirt that once hung loose around her hips now stretched, tight to almost ripping, around her  _ upper back.  _ This thought set her to moaning again, squeezing her fat thighs around Snape’s ears.

Next, she reached down, grasping as low as she could on her belly… but it was no use. She could not reach far past her navel, even as she tried to pull the fat up as far as it would go. Her upper belly swelled roundly against her breasts… which she could now feel pressed up against her fat chin. This was so powerfully erotic, that along with the lapping of that unseen tongue… she was propelled upwards into an intense and mind-obliterating orgasm. Her mouth opened, her eyes rolling back as she came—a powerful, squirting climax. 

Snape felt the clear, lovely-smelling girlcum squirt forth from her, and he closed his eyes, dutifully catching every drop in his mouth, savoring her taste… Swallowing it down to continue lapping at her clit to carry her through her long, full-body orgasm.

* * *

After she’d come, after what felt like hours of afterglow, laying in bed… After she’d let him map her curves with his big hands as she lay in sleepy ecstasy… the time had come for her to go back to her room. 

He helped her to sit up in bed, and gave her the bottled antidote. She frowned at the triangular bottle, truthfully not wanting to drink it… but knowing full well that she didn’t have any other choice, at the moment. She swallowed down the bitter liquid, feeling her cherished curves deflate and suck away. It made her feel sick… it completely ruined her post-orgasm bliss, and her mood in general. Her one solace was that the experience had stretched out her nightshirt a bit more. She admired its new size, twisting and turning in the mirror, recalling how it had felt to fill it out. She sighed wistfully. 

Snape cleared his throat. 

“Granger…”

He began, lifting the potion bottle. There was still a little of the antidote remaining in the bottom. Hermione gave him a cheeky grin, lifting her shirt.

There… in place of her previously concave belly… was a cute, little, round, soft, tummy. It was enough to hide under her clothes… but was still a difference of what had to be at least 10-15 pounds from her previous frame. 

“Don’t begrudge me this…” She said, sweetly, though her voice also dripped with Dominance. “It’s something to remember you by…”

As she took the portkey back to her room, Snape lay back in the bed, in the warm shape of where the girl’s wide silhouette had once been. By “you,” did she mean… him? Or did she simply mean him-as-a-vehicle for the potion she now needed to find fulfillment, and that fulfillment itself? He searched the situation to clues to this, and found no satisfying answers, save for the inevitable—

No matter if she loved him, or if she was just using him as a means to an end… he would continue to give her what she wanted.


End file.
